


Astray

by Antiheld



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Amnesia, Angst, Attempted/Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Drama, F/M, Gritty, Interspecies Relationship(s), Psychological Trauma, Romance I guess, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27996420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antiheld/pseuds/Antiheld
Summary: Anne loves stories, but she doesn't much care for this one. Why is she here? Who is Elena and what is this fearful whisper about the altered ones? Left in the unwilling hands of an aloof, tight-lipped Elf, she soon learns that Middle-earth is a harsh place. Distrust runs high and kindness is scarce. Roads are perilous when evil is afoot, and the past comes haunting. Fourth Age, AU
Relationships: Legolas Greenleaf/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 13





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, folks!
> 
> A few Warnings: Rated M for Violence and mature themes, including psychological trauma and some fairly unhealthy coping mechanisms. Chapters that I feel might require an additional/more detailed warning will have a note at the top.
> 
> Technically, this is a Girl/Woman-falls-into-Middle-earth-Story, albeit a bit of a twisty one. To add insult to injury, it also features poor, overworked Legolas as the main protagonist. Yeah, I have no idea what the hell I was thinking either. That being said, I'm not gonna apologise for it, he actually really grew on me.
> 
> May this story be considered 'LACE-friendly'? I believe it does. I will add, though, that I regard that essay as 'more what you'd call "guidelines" than actual rules.' Thank you Captain, and many Thanks to Ruiniel for kindly igniting that entertaining debate.
> 
> Disclaimer: Everything is property of JRRT/The Tolkien Estate, bar ill-fated Anne, as well as the bucketloads of other original characters. (Oh, and Rhyswenlia - but you can have her)  
> Most of the elvish phrases I use (Sindarin, Quenya or otherwise) are by courtesy of dreamingfifi's amazing language website realelvish.net. 
> 
> This story is also hosted on Fanfiction.net, where I first started cutting my writing teeth -and still am- over a decade ago. Since I'm revising (aka having my poor, overworked Beta-reader do the work for me) the older chapters now, I'm taking the opportunity to start cross-posting it over here. I will be updating once or twice a week until I'm caught up with the most recent chapters, after which things will inevitably slow down a bit. 
> 
> A huge and heartfelt thanks to Ruiniel for beta-reading!

Last revised November 2020

* * *

Anne looked up from her monitor for the third time in what couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes, glancing towards the large window next to the dining table. Again, she thought she had caught a glimpse of something outside, a movement in the darkness, out of the corner of her eye. Frowning and absently worrying her lower lip with her teeth, she peered through the glass, but the garden was pitch-black; all she could see was her own reflection and those of the numerous lamps she had lit inside the living room.

She was being silly of course. Nothing was out there, except the neighbour's cat, perhaps. She just wasn't used to being alone in the big house at night, and it was just so awfully quiet. Anne's parents had just left for a four-week cruise along the Scandinavian fjords, and her little sister Hannah had finally moved out a couple of months ago. Anne, living relatively close by, had therefore agreed to house-sit. Despite being the older one by almost six years, Anne feared that Hannah might indeed have been the better choice for the task, and for this exact reason: It was dark, it was too quiet, and it was making her far too nervous.

Shaking her head and inwardly scolding herself for being such a chicken, she turned away from the dark window and back to her computer and to her reading, hoping to lose herself once more in one of her latest guilty pleasures, _Passionate Encounters_. She was up to chapter thirty-seven, and it seemed like the virgin was about to give up her rather feeble resistance and finally surrender to her determined beloved.

* * *

" _Oh, I don't know, Telendir… Maybe this is a grave mistake! You are an Elf - tall, strong, beautiful, noble, rich and humorous - whereas I am a mere human! And though I might seem like the obvious choice to espouse - due to my powers, given by the Valar themselves – alas, the fact remains, that I am mortal and you are not!"_

" _Do not despair, Rhyswenlia, my love! And, stop making up excuses, we have been through this before. Have you forgotten that Arwen promised to present you, with half of her remaining lifespan, to thank you for saving Aragorn's life with your powers? Now, please hold still, I am trying to open these clasps…"_

_"But can I accept such a gift? It is true; she probably doesn't need a long life, with marrying Aragorn and all —"_

_"There you go. Whatever objections you have, my love - for you I shall conquer them all. Kindly stop fidgeting, will you —"_

_"Telendir! I have to remain a virgin until I'm eighteen, or the Valar won't remove the curse from me. You know -the one that kills the second born in every household I set foot into! And it is but two more days —"_

* * *

This time, there was a distinctive scraping noise from outside, somewhere near the window. Anne jumped slightly in her chair and tore her gaze away from the screen again to try and make out something in the dark.

Nothing. Of course, there was nothing. This was rural countryside, the most boring and uneventful small town imaginable. Nothing out of the ordinary happened here. Ever. The quietness was playing tricks on her mind, that was all. Well, that and the after-effect of reading too much nonsense, perhaps. There was no sound apart from the soft, constant ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner behind her.

Anne returned to the more pressing matters.

* * *

_But_ _her beloved cut her short fiercely. "Nay! I cannot hold back anymore! I know 'tis wrong, but our love is worth it. And my younger brother Teleg - he is my archenemy anyway, usurper of the throne that he is."_

_It was then that Teleg burst into their chambers, roaring with fury, for he had been eavesdropping. "You will never prevail over me, Telendir! And Rhyswenlia I shall claim for myself!..."_

* * *

Anne's head shot up. Something had just triggered the motion sensor. Its lamp was casting a yellow cone of light across the narrow, gravelled path, the house wall and the little garden gate.

All right, this was it, irrational fear or not.

In one swift motion, Anne was out of her chair and pushed the button for the standby mode on her laptop. After turning off the lights, she resisted the temptation of pouring herself a good measure of her father's fine scotch, and instead all but ran to her old room on the second floor - taking only a small detour to the bathroom. By the time she crawled into bed and pulled the blanket up to her nose, Anne was beginning to feel slightly foolish about her headlong flight, but also a lot safer. Even if it was just a stray cat, (which no doubt it was)she was bone-weary anyway. It was late and the story had another fourteen chapters. Now that she thought about it, Anne remembered that she had also meant to finish a few other rather epic tales for quite some time, _Fëanor's Concubines_ and _Passionate Meetings_ , the prequel to _Passionate Encounters._

Well, there's always tomorrow, was her last coherent thought, before succumbing to tiredness and slowly drifting into dreams.

* * *

The vacated living room was dark and quiet. The light of the motion sensor had gone out, the laptop screen was black, and the only sound was the low ticking of the grandfather clock. After a few minutes, however, there was something else - almost too faint for human ears, if any had been present. A soft, scraping noise that seemed to be coming from the wooden floor. Suddenly the laptop monitor lit up, emitting a faint bluish light in the otherwise darkened room, and showing once more chapter thirty-seven of _Passionate Encounters_.

Another few minutes passed. Then a voice spoke in a low, strangely hollow-sounding whisper.

"Is everyone present?"

Suddenly the seemingly empty room was filled with something like a hissing sort of hum as if a considerable number of people were trying to make their presence known while keeping their voices as low as possible.

"It would seem so." The reply came from a second whisperer, who had a slightly whistling quality to their voice. "Withal, I must ask: what fuss was that with the light in their garden?"

There was the clearing of a throat that sounded like a slab of rock grating against stone. "That would be me. She was rather taking her time, therefore—"

"I expect you were responsible for the noises as well?"

"Yes, what pretty trick was that? You do not even possess a corporal form right now."

"Well, forgive me for thinking it might not hurt to add a little atmosphere to—"

There was the low but distinctive sound of another throat being cleared.

"May I suggest we return to the task at hand?" a particularly low and hoarse voice interrupted the dispute.

"Yes, yes – certainly. Are there any more thoughts on the matter before we proceed?"

"Well, her partialities are... _interesting_ ," someone murmured.

"That is not what I would call it," came a sharply hissed reply from somewhere near the sofa.

"I suppose, it does have a certain, naive charm -"

"Speak for yourself, my friend, _I_ find it rather disturbing."

"Now, now - disturbing or not," the hollow-sounding first whisperer raised their voice once more, "the decisive factor remains: these _... tales_ being completely harmless -" Someone gave a little cough at this, but the speaker went on: "- yes, they are harmless, compared to other things. We are all aware of that, I deem. Crucial is that she believes, that she imagines. And above all," the voice became graver still. "She _matches_ the one who left."

"That may be so, yet it is not said that her taking the place will change anything," the hoarse-sounding whisperer said quietly. "Others have crossed before without making a difference."

"Indeed, and as it stands I consider it improbable. Nevertheless, this has been discussed and we agreed to make one final attempt. Hereafter we shall leave Middle _-_ earth to its own devices. It is, after all, not our sole responsibility."

There was a soft, rumbling hum of consenting murmur.

"Any further objections?"

This time, only a long silence ensued.

"Then let us get this over with."

Precisely twenty-three minutes and forty-seven seconds later, the young woman named Anne, who had been sleeping soundly until that very moment, sat bolt upright without really waking. Eyes wide, staring blindly ahead, she opened her mouth as if trying to scream or perhaps just to draw breath, but seemed capable of neither. The last bit of oxygen left her lungs with a small, mildly surprised sounding "huh".

And just like that, a soul split and disappeared from its designated place in our universe.

* * *

**AN:** Just to clarify, since a couple of people have asked this: The illustrious piece of literature Anne is reading in this chapter was entirely made up by me. There is no deeper meaning, and the thing won't be mentioned or referenced again in the story.


	2. A Rude Awakening

Last revised November 2020

* * *

A Rude Awakening

* * *

The first thing Anne became aware of, was the sound of her breathing. It took a few seconds for her to realize what it was, since it seemed so rough and unnaturally loud. The second thing was the smell of the air around her. It was musty and stale, with a hint of sweat.

Trying to blink her eyes open, she found it more difficult than it should be; her eyelids seemed hopelessly sticky, as if she had a heavy head cold. She lifted her hand to rub them and noticed how weak her arm felt. Eventually, she managed to wipe away enough of the crusty stuff, and stared about herself, bleary-eyed.

It was relatively dark, but she could just make out a beamed ceiling above her. The mattress she was lying on was slightly uneven, and the bedstead underneath looked roughly made. The blanket was strangely stiff, and was covered with a white fabric that might have been linen. Most of the unpleasant smell seemed to be coming from the bedding.

Slowly turning her head, she saw that the faint and only light was coming from a candle in a brass holder on a tray, placed on a small wooden stool. Set on the tray were also a cup and a deep bowl, with a piece of cloth hanging over its rim.

Anne struggled to sit up, and looked around, frowning, as her eyes were adjusting to the gloom. The low, narrow room had stonewalls and a sloping ceiling with crossbeams. The wood was dark and ancient-looking. A door from the same wood was just visible at the further end of the room. There were three more beds next to hers, empty and with their sheets neatly folded.

Anne could not recall ever having seen this place before, much less how she had got here.

Fear crept over her, and she sat up straighter, pushing the musty-smelling blanket aside. Only then, her attention was drawn to what she was wearing. It was some kind of simple white nightgown with a high neckline, long sleeves, and a hemline, which would probably reach her ankles if she stood. Also, it smelled as though she had been wearing it for a week, without washing. The gown was slightly damp too, and she felt goosebumps on her arms, despite the warm, stifling air in the room. She became aware of muffled noises, not too far away.

_Where was she?_

Her throat was tight and sore when she swallowed. She dragged her legs out from underneath the blanket and dropped her bare feet on the floor, which was cold enough to cause another shiver to run through her.

As she attempted to stand, she registered how weak her body felt - her back ached dully and her legs wobbled a bit from the effort. Nevertheless, she staggered to her feet.

This too was very strange. What had happened to her? Had she been ill? Perhaps the flu? It certainly felt like that, but she could neither remember getting sick, nor recovering from any illness.

She took two, three shaky steps. Her eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness, and she could make out more of the room. On the side where the ceiling was lowest, the wall was lined with large chests. The floorboards felt cool and smooth under her naked feet. She took a calming breath. There were other people here. She had to go and find someone who could explain what was going on. She took a few more steps towards the door, ducking her head under one of the low hanging beams as she did so. At this moment, an echoing, very loud and horrible screech pierced the silence outside. Her head jerked upwards and collided painfully with the beam above. Gasping and with her eyes tearing up, she staggered sideways, grabbing the nearest bedpost **,** and sat down on the bed.

Suddenly the door opened, and a blonde young woman, wearing an apron and a button-through dress, and carrying a lit candle and a clay jug, appeared on the threshold.

"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed. "You're awake! I heard a thud and thought you might be. Lucky I was just on my way to have a look in on you. How are you feeling? Exhausted? No doubt, you must be! I should think so, after what you have been through… The fever was running high for many days, Elena, and even the healer they called said you might not pull through, you know! My name is Liecia, by the way. Oh, you must be thirsty—"

While chattering away, she bustled through the room, placed the candle on one of the chests, and went to pick up the cup from the tray on the stool. Pouring some water from her jug into the cup, she returned to the bed, where Anne was sitting, staring at Liecia wide-eyed, confusion clearly written on her face. Liecia saw that she was still clutching her head.

"What is wrong with your head, did you hurt yourself? You did not fall off the bed, did you?"

"No... I, er—"

Liecia saw her glance up towards the ceiling; following her gaze, she laughed.

"Ah, say no more. You bumped against that darned beam there, didn't you? It happens to me five times a week … Now, you really should drink a little, Elena."

Saying so, she thrust the cup into Anne's hand, who stared at it mutely, but made no move to drink. Instead, she attempted to clear her throat, swallowed and then raised her eyes to look up at Liecia.

"What… what did you call me?"

Liecia looked slightly taken aback. "Elena? Is that not your name? Your brother said…" She paused, looking uncertain. Then she smiled again, though it looked a bit uneasy.

"What is your name then?" She asked kindly.

For some reason **,** Anne felt vaguely alarmed by the question. Her eyes flitted through the room, before focusing on Liecia's face once more. Her lips went numb and her pulse quickened. When she spoke, her voice was strained and shaky.

"I think… I think my name is Anne."

* * *

The _Rolling Barrel_ had seen better days. Busier and noisier days too, Dorlas Dockleaf remembered nostalgically. There had been a time when his inn was known as the prime address for good company and an excellent brew in the long stretch of land east of the Misty Mountains, between the Gladden Fields and Mirkwood. In fact, it also happened to be the only tavern in the whole area - but in Dockleaf's opinion, that could not diminish his well-earned reputation.

Not only the Inn, but also the whole village of Carrockton had enjoyed great popularity for many years. The town was located at the western edge of Mirkwood, or rather the Eryn Lasgalen, as it was now called, where the Great East Road leads into the forest. Therefore, Carrockton had naturally become a trading centre for the Woodland Realm, Esgaroth, Rohan **,** and even Eriador, especially after the end of the last great war.

However, those glorious days were gone. The current times were dark and strange, and seemingly getting worse. Orcs and other, more terrifying creatures had started roaming the lands once more, which had not happened since the defeat of Mordor, more than forty years ago. Yet more disquieting were the rumours about what seemed to be going on in and around the Lasgalen itself - concerning its noble and well-respected inhabitants. From what the townsmen of Carrockton had heard, in most parts of Middle-earth, things appeared to be equally bad.

Dockleaf's family came from Bree, which was an old township of Eriador on the other side of the Misty Mountains, and many of his kin still dwelled there. Two months ago, one of his distant cousins, Fabian Pepperidge had arrived with a cart-load of pipeweed, but also bearing sinister-sounding tidings from the regions west of the mountain chain.

Usually, Dockleaf would have considered most of these things as none of his business, but the absence of customers – as people avoided travelling if possible, and all trading had nearly come to a standstill – meant that his own business went downhill rapidly. Tonight, clearly, would be no better than any evening during the last few weeks.

He would have to let another servant go, he thought dolefully. With his clientele merely consisting of a few regulars and the odd traveller every now and then, he simply could not afford to keep them all. Or rather to keep any of them. At the rate things were going, this would soon be the case. Meaning that even with the few customers they had, it would be difficult to keep the _Barrel_ open in the end.

Dockleaf's gloomy thoughts were interrupted, as Nesta, one of the maidservants, approached him at that moment.

"Master Dockleaf?" She cast a glance towards the two men sitting at the far end of the counter who seemed absorbed in their own conversation, before addressing the landlord again in a hushed voice.

"The woman from Esgaroth is awake."

"Ah, some good news at last," Dockleaf said, his face lighting up. "She can finally tell us, what exactly happened there."

Nesta looked uncertain. "Well, there might be a problem… Master, is the Ranger still here?"

Dockleaf frowned. "Indeed he is, sitting in the side room and smoking. Said he would stay a couple of days. Now, what could possibly warrant bothering the only paying guest, who..."

"This woman," Nesta said urgently. "Liecia said she behaved very oddly. What if she is… after all, we don't know what happened to them on their way here."

Dockleaf stared at her for a moment, and then cursed under his breath when he realized the meaning behind the servant's words.

"Go fetch the Ranger," he told her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Ruiniel for beta-reading!


	3. Questions and Answers

Partially revised March 2020

* * *

Questions and Answers

* * *

Anne's mind was reeling as she was sitting on the bed, waiting for Liecia to return. The woman had left the room with a muttered apology, right after Anne had told her what she thought to be her name. Yes, she was sure about that, she realised now. Her name was Anne… but why had that other name – the one, Liecia had called her – seemed so familiar? It had been the weirdest feeling, knowing that she was the one being addressed, associating a familiar feeling with the name, and yet at the same time, she didn't believe anyone had ever called her that before. Was she losing her mind?

For the last five minutes or so, Anne had been desperately trying to remember something, or anything at all. Her mind was a dark, blurry mass. Whenever she thought she might get hold of something, it slipped it away. Once or twice, images would appear in front of her mind's eye, but she could not make head or tail of it. It was like struggling to remember a dream, or trying to hold water in the cup of your hand. The memories were running through her fingers, even as she tried to grasp at them.

What on Earth had happened to her?

She shivered and hugged herself - once more becoming aware of the uncomfortable feeling of the clammy nightgown on her skin. Suddenly, she heard raised voices quickly coming closer. Looking up, she warily watched as the door burst open and a small group of people entered. One of them was Liecia – but there were also two men and another woman, who was carrying a lantern and kept slightly to the back of the group.

Liecia was still talking insistently to a stocky man with a shaggy mane of silver-streaked red hair. He, too, wore an apron over his breeches, and his linen shirt was open at the collar, revealing more auburn hair. He had a towel slung over his shoulder and was eyeing Anne suspiciously.

"… honestly, Master Dockleaf, she is weak, in shock and not even properly _dressed_! Surely this can wait!"

"'Wait'! I think not! If she is… I will not have one of _them_ in my house!"

"Now, now, Dockleaf, more haste, less speed," the second man said calmly, moving forward and further into the room.

He was a bit taller than the other man, strongly built and his dark hair reached his shoulders, although it was not quite as shaggy as that of the agitated redhead. His worn clothes might have been a shade of dark green at some long-ago point, but it was so faded, that one could only guess at its original colour.

Clearing his throat, he now sat down opposite Anne, on one of the chests lining the wall. He rested his left hand on his knee, while the right one was placed lightly on his hip…

No, Anne realised as she took a closer look, not his hip but on the hilt of the _sword_ at his hip.

Her breath quickened. What on Earth was going on? It almost seemed like there were afraid of her – or at the least very cautious. But, that was ridiculous, what threat could she possibly pose, being scared out of her mind, not able to remember anything… or clear anything up, for that matter. She desperately hoped they would not demand an explanation she could not give.

"We need you to tell us what happened. Why you have fled."

So much for that hope. She had fled from somewhere? Should she try to play along? Pretend she knew what he was talking about? They obviously did not know very much about her … But no, that could only backfire, lead to even more mistrust on their part, and somehow she suspected that she was entirely at their mercy. She vaguely wondered what 'one of _them_ ' was supposed to mean. She swallowed.

"I… I don't know."

He frowned slightly. "What is it you don't know?"

Anne slowly shook her head; she could feel her heartbeat in her throat. "Nothing. Anything… I do not know how I got here, or… or about fleeing. I do not know where I came from. Please..." She tried to keep the tremble out of her voice and failed. "Where am I? What is this place?"

The dark-haired man's eyes had narrowed at the beginning of her rambling, but now his face seemed to soften a little, as he watched her with an expression close to pity. Glancing up, Anne saw that sentiment mirrored in the faces of the others, although the man called Dockleaf still looked a tad suspicious. None of this made her feel any better.

"You are in Carrockton," the man in front of her finally said, watching her closely as he spoke. "A town west of the Eryn Lasgalen. You are in the town's inn, _The Rolling Barrel_ , the landlord is Master Dockleaf over there."

Anne glanced at Dockleaf, who murmured something like, "Must have been quite a blow _…_ "

"You came from Esgaroth - Lake-town, on the other side of the forest. They say you arrived here four days ago – barely conscious. With a fever already running high."

Anne felt her head spin, while she tried to process all this. She could not connect the names he had said with anything; although she had the odd feeling that she had heard them before – at least some of them.

"I was… on my own?" She finally managed to get out.

Both pity and discomfort **were** now clearly written on his face. It was Liecia though, who answered instead of him. Her voice was soft and full of sympathy.

"No. No, you were not on your own." She crouched down on the bed next to Anne and tentatively laid a hand on her arm.

"It was your brother who brought you here, Elena… Anne. But, his wound was so severe, he… he died the same night that you arrived here. Everyone thought it a miracle he made it this far..."

"And no mistake about it," Dockleaf muttered. "Slid out of the saddle, like all strength had left him, the instant he reached the courtyard…"

Liecia shot him an angry glance and then looked back at Anne, her eyes softening.

"I am so sorry."

Anne stared at her. Then she slowly turned her gaze to her hands in her lap. She was aware of the tense silence in the room and frantically searched for some kind of emotion inside herself, but there was none. Nor could she think of something appropriate to say. What do you say when hearing of the death of a family member you don't remember? She wished she could recall his name.

"How was he wounded?" Her voice sounded distant in her own ears. She looked up and noticed they were exchanging glances.

"We don't know," Liecia said at last. "We thought it might have been on the same occasion that you were hurt."

"Me?" Anne said, puzzled.

"The back of your head. There was a wound like you slammed against something hard."

Anne reached up and tentatively touched her scalp where Liecia had indicated. The wound seemed to have closed and was healing, but it was a bit sore and there still was a slight bruise. She felt panic rising inside of her. What was going on? She had arrived here with her brother, whom, along with everything else, she could not remember – after fleeing from their home, or so it appeared. On their way here, something had happened to them, resulting in him being injured so severely that he didn't survive it. She racked her brain again, but it was no use. Before waking up here, in this room – there was nothing.

"I don't understand… I can't..." She looked around at them helplessly. "I don't remember what happened. I don't even remember him – my brother…"

_Not a brother…_

_A sister_

Anne paused, her mouth was very dry suddenly. That thought - where had that come from?

The man in front of her looked at her attentively. "Have you remembered anything?"

She slowly shook her head. "No… no, I don't think so."

He sighed. "Well, trying to rush it will probably do no good. I am afraid the head injury is the cause of your memory loss. If that is indeed the case, your memories might return, but you will have to give it time," he looked over to Dockleaf. "You do not have to worry, I am certain she is still herself... whoever that might be."

The man gave her a faint smile as he rose, and Anne briefly wondered whether this was the weak attempt of a joke. "Besides," he added, addressing the landlord once more. "All of them – those we have encountered so far at least - were males."

"Yes, yes," Dockleaf grumbled. "Better to be on the safe side though, isn't it? If you say she shows no sign of..." He trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

"She doesn't. I understand why you were worried though, these are strange times, and most people are not cautious enough."

Dockleaf turned to Anne. "My apologies, young lady. Indeed, this house used to be more hospitable, but surely you understand – nowadays one has to be careful."

"Oh, that- that is quite alright," Anne stuttered, not understanding anything. "It seems you have been very hospitable towards me already. Thank you for… for everything."

"Ah, naturally, naturally. After all, we promised your brother and everything... well, you should rest now, or er - freshen up, if you like."

The awkward way he glanced at her, wrecked all hope that she might not look as bad as she had feared. Both men bowed slightly in her direction and left the room. Liecia scrutinised Anne.

"You really should take a bath, if you don't feel too weak. This bed needs fresh sheets, and that nightdress could do with a good scrubbing, also. Nesta, would you take her?"

"Of course," The other woman beckoned Anne to come with her. "Come, it is not far."

Anne nodded and followed her out the door and onto a dark landing. There, they turned right and followed the corridor which ended at a door. Nesta opened it and, gesturing for Anne to follow her, went inside ahead, and started lighting several lanterns. The room was L-shaped, with high windows and a tiled floor of fired clay. The floor was sloping down slightly towards one corner, where Anne could see a low opening in the wall, just above the ground, and assumed that it was to drain the water. There were two wooden tubs in the room, as well as a little wood-burning stove, and several large kettles and pots. Nesta opened the hatch in the stove and began busying herself with lighting a fire.

"While I heat the water, you can wash up. To scour the tubs is hard work, therefore it's better to get as clean as possible before using them. Take one of the stools over there, so you do not have to stand. Soap and cloths are on the shelf to your right."

Anne felt a bit self-conscious undressing in front of a stranger, albeit a woman. Her longing to feel clean was stronger than her embarrassment, though. She took one of the little stools that were stacked in a corner, placed it as securely as she could on the sloping ground, and awkwardly pulled the nightgown over her head. After she had helped herself to a crumbly piece of soap and a cloth, she realised that she had no water. Unsure what to do, she turned to Nesta, who was still poking at the fire.

"Um…the water..."

"Over there," Nesta said, indicating the kettles. "Take one of the smaller ones."

Anne took the smallest pot which was still heavy enough, sat down on the stool and started cleaning herself as best as she could. She watched in awe as Nesta heaved one of the big kettles onto the stove. The woman did not look much stronger than she was.

When the water appeared to be warm enough, Nesta lifted the kettle from the fire and poured the water into the tub, and told Anne that she could get in now, politely keeping her gaze averted. Even while Anne carefully stepped into the tub, Nesta put a second kettle on the stove. This one was smaller, so that after the water was heated, she could slowly pour it over Anne, who sat with her legs tucked up and tried to wash her hair.

After they were finished, Nesta left her alone to dry herself, but returned soon with a fresh nightdress for her. She helped Anne, who felt a bit wobbly by now, to pull it over her head. When Anne asked whether she should help to empty the tub, Nesta smiled for the first time, but shook her head. She was actually very pretty with her fair skin and dark hair. She explained to Anne that Odo, one of the male servants at the Rolling Barrel was responsible for emptying the tubs and making sure that the kettles and pots were always filled.

**:::**

When they came back to the bedchamber, Anne saw that Liecia had put fresh linen on 'her' bed and opened a window, which she had not noticed before. The scents of the summer night, hay and blooming fields filled the room. After settling down on the bed, she looked up to Nesta, who was rummaging in a chest, eventually producing a woollen blanket, and put it on the foot of Anne's bed.

"Here, in case you should get cold. I doubt you will though, it is a warm night."

"Thank you. Not just for the blanket I mean, but for everything else."

"Oh, do not worry about it."

"No, really… everyone is so kind and -" Anne made a helpless gesture, "Letting me stay here, taking care of me…"

Nesta looked at her, bemused, sitting down on one of the other beds. "Don't be silly, what else would we have done? You were alone and ill, and now it seems that you have nowhere else to go. You shall stay here, at least for now."

Anne nodded, feeling a bit sheepish. "May I ask you something?"

Nesta inclined her head, even though her smile seemed a little cautious. "Go ahead."

"The man from before... the dark-haired one. Who was he? It felt a bit like he was interrogating me."

"He is a Ranger from Eriador. It is said that they live scattered in small communities in the West, sometimes patrolling the lands – keeping them safe, or so I have heard, at least. They are not often seen on this side of the mountains, but the one you met is an acquaintance of Master Dockleaf. I believe his name is Nardil."

Anne nodded slowly. The name Eriador seemed familiar somehow, but none of the information triggered any memories. "What did he mean when he said that…" She frowned, trying to recall his exact words. Then, she had it. "I was _still myself_?"

Nesta looked slightly uneasy. "Yes," she muttered. "Of course, if you don't remember anything else, you would not know about that either. There is…" She paused, looking like she was searching for the right words.

"What?" Anne prompted. Her throat felt tight for some reason.

"It feels odd, explaining it to someone." Nesta sighed, staring at her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap.

"For a while now, things have... been changing. The land is not as safe as it used to be. Thirty years – even ten years back, it was very different, but now it's almost as if things are returning to the way they were at the time of the great war, and that was more than forty years ago. Of course, I was not even born at that time, it's what the elders say, those who remember those dark days. Raids on villages and smaller towns, merchants intercepted, travellers being robbed... and worse.

"Some people say, the source of it all lies in the Black Land – like so many decades ago. Others say it all comes from Rhun, in the northeast, but that sounds more like the gossip of busybodies, if you ask me. Although, we feel the effects, Carrockton has been mostly spared so far. For one thing, it is shielded by the great forest; the folk of the Woodland Realm still protects their borders, but only to some extent."

Anne was trying to keep track. This was a little overwhelming, to say the least. How could she not remember at least something like this? Something so… big.

"I understand…" She slowly said, not sure she truly did. "So, Master Dockleaf and the... the Ranger thought that I was one of those bandits who are wandering about and attacking people?"

"Oh, no," Nesta shook her head, hugging herself and rubbing her upper arms. "That is not what they thought. You see, apart from the Woodland folk and a few small human settlements, no one used to live in the forest. But now, there are others… other people.

Anne stared at her. There was something about the way Nesta said _people..._ it made the skin on the back of her neck prickle.

"What sort of people?"

Nesta took a slow breath through the nose, keeping her eyes firmly on Anne's.

"The altered ones."

* * *


	4. Orientation

Revised February 2021

* * *

Orientation

* * *

A brief silence followed Nesta’s cryptic statement, during which Anne stared at her in confusion. “ _Altered_ … what do you mean by that?”

Nesta’s gaze was fixed on her folded hands for a moment, her brow creased as if searching for the right words. At last, she looked up and met Anne’s gaze; the skin around the young servant’s eyes was tight, and her lips pressed into a narrow, white line. Yet, when she spoke, her voice was steady.

“I mean, that they are different. They are not who they were.”

“Different how?”

“It is hard to explain.” Nesta made a vague gesture with her hand. “They keep to themselves, live in secluded places, and stay away from towns and villages. People, who encountered them, cannot seem to describe them any other way than… _different_. Too little is known to link them to any of the raids or attacks, but we hear rumours. Some of those things…” Nesta paused, teeth worrying her lip; she was clenching her fingers so tightly her knuckles had turned white. When she continued, her voice was barely above a murmur. “Normal men could not have done them.”

Anne felt like she had swallowed something very heavy and cold. She lowered her gaze to the woven rug that covered the floorboards. “But... they _are_ men, aren’t they?”

“Most of them are,” Nesta muttered.

“What—” A knock on the door interrupted Anne; someone in the hallway called Nesta’s name. The servant rose, giving Anne an apologetic look.

“I must get back to work. Please try to rest and not to worry too much. Forgive me… mayhap I should not have burdened you with this so soon.”

With that, she left the room; Anne heard her exchange a few muttered words with someone outside in the hallway, then fainter growing footfalls, until it was quiet once more.

 _Try not to worry,_ Nesta had told her.

It was easier said than done, of course. More likely she would not be able to close her eyes tonight without seeing distorted creatures, only barely resembling human beings. Part of her did not want to accept what was going on — another part was almost thankful that she did not know what happened to her. Had someone attacked her and her brother? To think of this man felt odd, not even knowing his name or face. He was dead, she forced herself to recall. Someone, or _something,_ had injured him so severely that he did not survive it. Possibly it _was_ better not to remember.

No, she decided after mulling it over. Whatever happened — having no memories of people she must have loved was no bliss. Did someone attack her home? That town they said she was from, Esgaroth… Had there been a raid as well? Maybe she and her brother had escaped, and he had been wounded during their flight?

Resolutely, she pushed the dark thoughts from her mind — though in truth, she was so tired that it took little effort. While lowering herself onto the freshly made bed, she distantly wondered how far Esgaroth might be. 

I have to ask Liecia or Nesta, she thought, even as she felt her mind growing comfortably drowsy the moment her head touched the pillow. Within a few seconds, she had drifted into slumber.

* * *

Underneath the canopy of pines, the night air was pleasant and cool, rich with the myriad scents of a forest in summer. An owl alighted on one of the lower branches, clutched in its beak the small, limp body of its unfortunate prey, the soft, grey-brown fur streaked with scarlet. 

His senses painfully sharpened beyond their usual extent, he could all but _feel_ the trees’ outer bark parch and crumble. The warm night breeze brought no relief for him; one moment, his skin seemed to burn — the next, it felt like he had been immersed in ice water. His breathing was ragged and he could feel dizziness, along with the ever-hovering darkness, threatening to conquer him as he knelt on the forest floor, pressing his hands into the dry earth.

He would not let it overcome him, not yet.

He knew, if he just lingered, endured it, that it would pass, as it always did.

Despite all, it was a peculiarly comforting notion that at some point he would have to surrender to the advancing darkness, and become one with it. It would all be gone. It would all be over.

No regret. No fear. No choices.

The darkness became a crushing weight upon his mind, a pounding rush in his ears. For a moment, he could feel the edge of nothingness touching him, caressing his worn down senses. The muscles and sinews in his forearms tensed convulsively. His heart, though made to beat forever, faltered for the span of a pained breath… 

Then it was over, and he did not wonder how he had checked it, nor whether that command even lay in his power. Once his breathing became slower and deeper, he let his head sink lower still and shut his eyes. His hair had come loose from its binding and fell forward, curtaining his face.

* * *

A horrible, prolonged shrieking noise woke Anne. After a few moments of befuddlement, she vaguely recognised it as the same sound she had heard the night before. With everything that had been going on, she had not given it any thought.

Anne sat up and squinted bleary-eyed around the chamber; she was alone. Nesta and Liecia seemed to have already risen, but it could not be long past dawn. Soft, pale-gold sunlight fell through the window with its little rhombus-shaped panes, and cast a grid-like shadow on the smooth floorboards.

Anne started wondering whether it would be inappropriate if she left the chamber wearing nothing but her nightgown to search for the lavatory when the door opened and Nesta poked her head in.

“Ah, you are awake,” she said. “I was just about to rouse you. I brought you something to wear and then you should have a little breakfast. Are you hungry?”

Anne realised that she was. “Yes, to be honest. Thank you.”

Nesta gave her a smile, which Anne hastened to return, recognising that the other woman was not about to address what they had spoken about the previous evening. Nesta crossed the room and placed a bundle of folded cloth on the foot of the bed.

“Here. You can borrow a pair of my shoes for now. Liecia’s would not fit you, she has feet like a children’s doll.” She indicated a place next to the door where several pairs of shoes were lined up.

“Thank you… didn’t I have any shoes with me?” Anne found that hard to believe.

“You did, but they are terribly filthy, covered in mud and other things. I suppose you can wash them. They will take a couple of days to dry, however. I have to start preparing the midday meal now, just come down once you are dressed.”

She left the room, and Anne inspected the clothes. Unfolded, the reddish-brown bundle turned out to be a button through dress, similar to the ones she had seen both Liecia and Nesta wear. Discreetly wrapped inside of the dress, Anne found two more garments, both of them white.

One of them was a sleeveless chemise made of a strong fabric, with wide shoulder straps. It was not too tight, so Anne could easily pull it over her head. There was lacing in the front to support and adjust it to the wearer’s body. The other one appeared to be underpants or warmers of a sort, reaching just below Anne’s knees and falling loosely. The dress fitted rather well, both in length and around the upper body, and Anne expected it to be Nesta’s as well.

Feeling like she was, for once, dressed appropriately, Anne made for the door, but stopped short at the sight of a small mirror hanging on the wall between two of the chests. For a few seconds she only stared at the oval of polished metal, her hands involuntarily clenching into fists. Then she gave herself a mental kick and slowly, warily stepped closer. She was not sure what she had expected or feared. Not to recognise herself? Having the face of a stranger staring back at her?

Instead, a strange sense of confused relief washed over her. The pale woman with the slightly dishevelled brown hair was no stranger to Anne. She knew those brown-green eyes under dark brows that seemed very prone to frown. She recognised her nose and her mouth, the bottom lip slightly fuller than the upper one, and right now almost bleached of colour. Scattered freckles, stark against her current pallor, sparsely dotted her face here and there, though there was a denser line of them across the bridge of her nose and upper cheeks.

Every inch was familiar, although maybe a bit more peaky, and hollow-cheeked than usual. There was something else that was not quite right, something that was just ever so slightly _off_ , but she couldn’t put a finger on it. She knew with bewildering certainty that this was her, that this had always _been_ her.

With a sigh, Anne turned away from the mirror, crossed the chamber and stepped out onto the dimly lit landing. She took a moment to find her bearing, before cautiously making her way down the steep flight of stairs to her left. With some relief, she noted that she already felt a lot stronger than the previous evening. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted up from the lower level, and something that might be grounded poppy seeds. Obviously, there were some things she had not forgotten.

After reaching the bottom of the stairs, she followed a narrow, short corridor, which ended in front of a closed door. To her right, there was a passage in the wall; quiet voices sounded from the room beyond. Anne stepped inside and found herself in a large kitchen. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls, containing numerous bins, boxes, and vessels of different shapes and sizes. Several boards were laden with tin plates and cups. A long, scrubbed oak table stood in the centre of the room, heavy iron pans and pots were hanging from the ceiling above it. A second passage on the opposite side of the kitchen led behind a counter.

Nesta stood by a large stove in one corner. She was talking to a young man, clad in a woollen shirt and dusty trousers; straw and dried mud clung to his heavy boots. Anne did not want to interrupt them, so she crossed the room and stepped through a door that was ajar, hoping that she would not accidentally walk into someone’s private chamber.

Instead, she found herself in a deserted parlour. Several round low tables and comfortable looking chairs were scattered in the room, and on one side was an enormous fireplace. Sunlight was streaming through the high, slightly dusty windows, and a faint scent of pipe smoke hung in the air. A threadbare rug covered the wooden floor.

Anne headed towards another half-open door. This seemed to be the inn’s main common room. A long counter was on the right side, tables and low benches lined the walls. This room was nearly empty as well — except for the man called Nardil, who sat at a corner table, a steaming cup and a small tin on the table in front of him. He was busy rubbing a stained rag over something that looked like a tangle of leather straps.

Then Anne spotted Liecia at the far end of the room, wiping tables. She approached her hesitantly. The young maidservant looked up at the sound of Anne’s steps, and her face split into a grin.

“Good morning! It is good to see you up and about. Are you feeling better?”

Anne nodded, smiling in return. “Yes, very much, thank you.”

“Splendid! Sit down, I will fetch you something to eat.”

Liecia tucked an errant golden lock behind her ear, waved away Anne’s embarrassed protest, before striding around the counter and vanishing inside the kitchen. Left to her own devices, Anne glanced at Nardil again. He looked up, as if feeling her eyes on him, and nodded by way of greeting. Anne could now see that the thing he was rubbing at seemed to be a bridle and reins. Liecia returned with a tray laden with deliciously smelling bread, a small chunk of white cheese, a bowl of porridge and a little cup filled with creamy, yellow butter. Anne suddenly realised that she was very hungry indeed.

“Thank you so much,” she said to Liecia. “But...” with a further glance towards the corner where Nardil was sitting, she lowered her voice. “Would you mind showing me the, err, the latrines first?”

Out of fear that Nardil might overhear her, Anne had only whispered the last couple of words. Liecia, obviously amused by the fuss, giggled and motioned for Anne to follow her. They went back through the kitchen, into the narrow corridor, and took the door on the left side that Anne had noticed before. It led into a paved courtyard, bordered by a low, square building on the left. Anne could hear the stamping of hooves and the occasional snort from inside.

They went around it, and Liecia showed Anne the small hut with the pit latrine. Anne’s initial thought was that this might actually be an experience well worth forgetting. They were about to head back inside when Anne remembered something else.

“This morning I heard a very odd noise, an awfully loud shriek. I heard the same thing last night…”

Liecia looked puzzled for a moment and then laughed. “Of course! Come, have a look.” Still chuckling, she led the way behind the main house. After turning the corner, Anne paused, and stared at a small enclosure made of poles and coarse meshed nets; inside - picking on the sandy ground, or perched on logs and heaps of straw, were the strangest-looking birds she could imagine. They resembled both vultures and turkeys, with dirty brown feathers and large wattles.

Liecia saw the expression on Anne’s face and grinned. “Bogskirls. They might not look all that pretty, but their meat is delicious, the feathers are soft enough for bedding, and from the skin of their feet and legs one can make water sacks—”

“Yes, I see your point,” Anne said hurriedly. She peered into the enclosure again, where a Bogskirl was eyeing her suspiciously while emitting low clucking noises.

“I know, their voices are not the most pleasant thing to wake up to,” Liecia said as they walked back to the courtyard. But one gets used to it.”

“Well, at least that solves _one_ riddle,” Anne muttered.

The blonde woman’s face became serious. “Anne, once you have eaten, there is something I must show you. Or rather, return to you.”

Anne furrowed her brow. “Return to me?”

“Yes… When you arrived here, you carried not much with you, since you only had one horse. But, there is a little; one saddlebag that seems to contain merely clothes. We did not go through it, but there were also a few things you had on you. It is not much, but they are probably yours and who can say if they might not help you remember anything?”

Anne swallowed and nodded while following the younger woman up the steps that led inside the inn. She was not sure how she felt about the prospect. Whenever she dwelled on the vast darkness in her mind, her stomach gave a weak lurch and an odd tingle crept up her neck and across her scalp. She wanted to know what had happened, who she was. How could she live without memories? 

And yet, the thought of discovering pieces of the past came also with a twinge of indistinct fear. How could a memory loss be so absolute, when the names of objects, types of food or animals came to her without difficulty? Everything prior to her waking up in the inn’s servant’s quarters was like a black void. Anne could not help thinking that from this void, things might emerge that were better left forgotten.

  
  


* * *

  
**AN** : A huge thanks to my wonderful Beta-reader Ruiniel.  
  



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